


Never Like This

by kabeswaters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is really soft, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Battle of Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 17:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17104748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabeswaters/pseuds/kabeswaters
Summary: After the war and lots of long, official conversations to set up the terms, you and Draco become friends with benefits.  The only problem: you’re madly in love with him, and not catching feelings is rule #1.





	1. Chapter 1

Fresh morning light made its way through the bedroom’s window panes, scattered by the linen curtains that hung against the glass loosely. It poured against your unclothed bodies on the bed, two of them and molded so differently, but so intertwined they could have been one. So, when your eyelids opened, blinking in the brightness of the warm sunlight, it made sense that you found your cheek pressed firmly against his chest, which rose and fell with sturdy evenness. 

Over the past months of “strictly platonic” sex with Draco, there were plenty of moments you should have enjoyed but didn’t get to: the parts after, where he clung you to his body tightly, holding just to hold and have you close and nothing else; the times his demeanor snapped and he smiled as though he held the entire sun at the bottom of his throat; that one stream of kisses he whispered against your back, even though “romantic acts” were strictly forbidden under the terms you had both agreed on when starting this arrangement, and that trailing of lips down your spine definitely counted. But this was your favorite: the morning after, during which you could just bask, let your mind imagine a world in which you got to have Draco in this softness and the violent ripping off of clothes, the biting of lips and scraping of teeth up necks. 

But, if anything, you actually preferred watching your fingers lazily trail up and down the veined skin of his forearm. It wasn’t that feeling his hot breath flush against your wet skin left anything to be desired, or that his growls of profanities and “you’re making Daddy feel so good,” made your body result in anything other than curled toes and an arched back. If there was one thing you had learned from becoming friends with benefits, it’s that Draco knew how to get exactly what he wanted while simultaneously making you beg for whatever it was you desired. And it wasn’t as if you didn’t enjoy that—Merlin, who wouldn’t?—but after every starry-eyed climax you’d return to find an aching hole in your heart, deep and unfulfilled, leaving you feeling sick to your stomach.

You blamed it on the fact you were madly in love with Draco. Pair that with his obvious disinterest in something more than friendship and it was almost inevitable that even the grandest of orgasms left you with a feeling of depravity.

So you craved moments like these as if repenting for a sin to get to Heaven but this was Heaven, you knew it from the same place inside your soul that burned to love Draco. The morning after was always the best part because you could let your eyes show their adoration, almost overflowing with it like a glass filled to the brim, almost too much. But he would grant any fleck of romance as treachery, as breaking the rules, so you let your eyes be free and your heart flutter at his parted lips which, at least for the moment, couldn’t argue against your love-stricken actions. 

Too soon Draco woke. You could tell first by the random shifts of his body, then by the groan which broke up what was previously light snoring (you found it quite adorable, something Draco would never know). Your eyes watched his open, the greyness of them warmer than usual, resembling leftover smoke from a bonfire more so than stormy ocean skies, and they widened once recognizing you were flush against his naked chest.

“Oh, yeah. Hi,” he mumbled, breaking your heart slightly, as if he had forgotten your presence altogether. The sensation was countered by the flutter in your chest as Draco smiled, small but warm, from above you. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” you smiled back. “You?”

He chuckled a bit before answering, “Of course. You kind of wore me out last night.” 

A blush should have heated up your cheeks then, but you were used to this kind of crude compliment, so done after three months of fucking and just wanting to kiss Draco for real, for once, that no sign of flushness occurred. You still smiled, though, while offering the even cruder comment of, “I don’t know why you sound so surprised.”

Draco’s brows tensed. “It felt different last night…” his eyes began drifting around his bedroom, looking at the pale green walls for an answer, or maybe just to avoid your eyes as he admitted, “I think it’s because I kissed your back?” You tensed at this, restraining a shiver. “Sorry about that, by the way. I got carried away. I know it wasn’t allowed.”

“It’s fine,” you said. Not a lie but nowhere near the truth: the concept of Draco doing something he knew you both deemed as romantic while having sex was all you really wanted. But this was his first slip—the unrequiting and unrelentless perfectionist—so he probably felt the necessity to have it be known as such, whereas you were more than fine daydreaming about it being intentional, even if just slightly.

With drawn-in brows and pursed lips, Draco looked almost confused by your response. “Okay, then…” he drifted off, tone harsh on the edges, before lightening it absurdly fast to ask brightly, “Wanna get some breakfast? I’ve got oats and milk for porridge.”

While your outward agreement of, “Sure,” was just as neutral as it was supposed to be, it never exposed the hidden struggle to refuse vehemently, beg for Draco to give you just a few moments of being close without sex looming overhead like the most beautiful yet stubborn storm cloud, because you wanted the sun here and now. This sun, that shone through his bedroom windows, making his skin—with the exception of those spots which your mouth had turned a deep purple last night—glow so subtly, you only noticed because your eyes were transfixed on his body’s every detail: the few strands of bangs that flew loosely on his face; the muscular yet slender length of his neck, punctuated with a striking Adam’s apple; the almost indistinguishable curvature of his jawline, sharp from a distance but softer up close; the paleness and smoothness of his lips; the wiry hair on his chest; the subdued definition of his upper arms.

But how could you say you wanted to stay if it wasn’t part of the conditions? If it would abolish your access to those glories of his body forever?

So you and Draco got dressed in comfortable silence, heading to his wardrobe in lazy strides as you covered yourself with your hands pathetically. Draco was smirking and laughing, eyebrows raised, as he watched you struggle. “Cold?” he teased.

“No, just entirely naked,” you replied without a beat to pause.

“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” You rolled your eyes at the typicalness of it, Draco back to his usual, non-leaving-trails-of-kisses-on-your-back self, before the motion ended as he said, “Nothing I don’t like looking at.”

It was the closest to calling you beautiful Draco had ever been, and although words of praise were pervasive in your sexual dialogue— “So good princess, getting fucked like that, just taking it,” and “Feels so good, Daddy,” were frequently used favorites—rules required you to stray away from physical compliments, turning your cheeks scalding hot from his comment.

Slightly tongue-tied, you couldn’t concoct a better response than, “You keep breaking the rules, Draco,” said full of a breathiness that only intensified your blush. 

“Sorry,” he sputtered. 

“Don’t be.”

It came out in foolish instinct, and your mouth hung open with equal shock to Draco’s in the aftermath. “I, uh…” you struggled for words, fighting for them, but only finding mumbles and stutters before formulating a lie just honest enough to be believable. “Well, I mean, I’ve broken the rules before. So you shouldn’t feel too guilty about it.”

“Oh, I see.” Draco’s attention was on his now-open drawer, which had a selection of neatly-folded boxers in lavish fabrics, and you wondered if it was choosing one of millions or hearing your carefully constructed words which set his face in a deep frown. “I just thought you were going to say something that had the potential to jeopardize our agreement.”

Your heart sped up, which you attempted to hide by slipping on a shirt, hating the way you craved Draco’s eyes to be on your frame once more. “Is this,”—you gestured your hand in the cruelly large space between you and Draco— “something you are afraid of losing.” 

Almost to himself, Draco whispered, “Yeah,” before turning to your flustered face with a boyish grin and saying, “You’re a good fuck.”

“I know,” you quipped, although you wanted to say more about how you wanted to be more, more than just the friend Draco turned to after the war, his Dark Mark still blazed on his forearm but fading in his soul, begging for some kind of distraction that you gave by pressing your lips against his hastily—because you needed it, too, desperately—as a segue into sex. More than just a good fuck, the kind that wakes up the next morning and follows him into the kitchen to eat porridge for breakfast, feet cold from the slick hardwood flooring but heart feeling even more frozen. More than just a partner in an agreement, one Draco had broken twice already and seemed to keep doing throughout the course of breakfast. 

There was a hand placed on your thigh, loosely, like some sort of possessive afterthought, while Draco spooned Porridge into his mouth. You lightly scolded his name at it, even though you hated the cool chill of air that preceded his palm once it was lifted from your skin. “Oh, sorry,” he said, as if he didn’t even notice it. But you had and still did, even after the fingers left, for they had an aftereffect that buzzed and buzzed like calm fire. 

Then, just enough time later for you to forget about the hand on your thigh, you and Draco were discussing your plans for the day when he called you, “Baby,” even though pet names were strictly prohibited outside of the bedroom. But it was before a laugh, so he rode through with the convulsions of joy which coursed through his body while you sat in ghastly stillness beside him. You thought maybe that was the only sign of something wrong to Draco, as he seemed to go about his habitual movements until noticing your frigid body, followed by a “what’s wrong?” followed by another scolding followed by another apology. 

But none of them compared to after breakfast, when Draco went to his room and changed while you did the dishes (though you both had your own flats, you shared whichever one you ended the night in, a detail your stupidly hopeful heart would never let you forget). He emerged in some kind of great rush, fumbling for his briefcase and multiple other miscellaneous items—quills, parchment, his wallet—approaching you in clumsy steps while looking all around himself. “I’m late, got to go,” he said, full of exasperation, before kissing you on the forehead and then leaving and it all happened so fast you almost dropped the soapy plate held between your fingertips. 

Because Draco had kissed you. Outside of the bedroom. 

You didn’t know why but you were letting go of the plate, setting it down against the stainless steel sink before running towards the slammed-shut door as if Draco wasn’t late for work, as if he’d come back, as if he didn’t make the rules he broke, as if he was in love with you. But in some miraculous turn of fate, it opened before you reached it and there was Draco, a mixture of confusion and anger burning in his eyes and you stopped in your tracks as he entered the hallway. 

“Did I just kiss your forehead?” he asked, every possible ounce of mockery aside and replaced by breathless shock.

“Yeah,” you exhaled as if the spot wasn’t burning with the ghost of his lips. “I think so.” 

He turned his eyes on you, all previous softness you had basked in during the sunlit morning lost as the storm sky grey returned, anger twisting from within. Draco’s jaw was clenched as he more grumbled than asked, “You know that’s entirely against the agreement, right?”

A shrug graced your shoulders. “So has been everything else you’ve done this morning.” 

Draco takes a step towards you. It’s full of brisk aggressiveness and makes you concave into yourself, curl up into your own skeleton. “Well, every time you’ve told me. I touch your thigh, call you “Baby,” compliment you, and that’s all awful. But I fucking kiss you on the forehead and you have nothing to say?”

“You were running late,” you responded, concentrating on making your voice as even as possible, reluctant to show Draco how much it wanted to quiver. With added reluctance you put your hands on your hips, maybe too overtly showing your attempt to grasp at power, but you ceased worrying about it when Draco rose his voice again. 

“Did it ever occur to you that all of that might have been some sort of test? To see if you were ever going to break under this agreement?” 

“No,” you spat, “Because I never expected you to act that childishly, breaking it off with actions instead of having a civil conversation with me.” His jaw unclenched just slightly, in the smallest of fractions you only saw because you were staring at the harsh angles of his face, proving you were somewhat correct. So you taunted asked: “Are you that childish, Draco?”

His first response was a smirk, followed by, “I’m not the one twisting words here.”

“You’re not. You’re just the one playing mind games, which is endlessly more mature.”

“I’m sorry if our relationship is actually important to me.” He punctuated his sentence by pointing four fingers into his chest, and you looked down at them, long and slender, suddenly wondering if they ever craved to be intertwined in yours.

But somehow, that concept of softness that should have left your knees weak instead acted as the fuel behind your words of rage. “This relationship?” You questioned, beckoning at the tense and drawn-in air between you and Draco. “This one?”

“Yes,” he grumbled.

“Interesting. Because I thought we were just fucking. That I was just a good fuck.”

Suddenly anger exploded throughout Draco: his hands weaved into his hair and pulled at the roots—something that was typically your job, but you wouldn’t dare now— and his foot stomped into the floor as if he was trying to crack through the hardwood and his mouth let out a horrifyingly loud scream which quaked nearby picture frames. 

“You are just… just, just the most impossible person!” Draco shouted. “If there is one thing you know I care about it’s our agreement. To care about that I have to say you’re a good fuck, because there’s not much room for anything else with the goddamn rules.”

“You wrote them!” You accused, stepping forwards and gesturing at him.

“You agreed to them!” He countered, copying your movements, stepping into you and suddenly your bodies were almost pressed together, mouths hot with heavy breath mere inches apart, and you swore you saw Draco’s eyes slip to your parted lips, as if considering a kiss, pondering it. All he needed to do was lean in, ever so slightly—

“You need to leave,” he said, quiet in volume but loud in intent. 

Some stupidly helpless part of you went to swing your arm and grasp Draco’s hand; logic restricted it. Words were piled up at the top of your throat: you had so much to say that none of it could get through and you muttered incoherently in the meantime.

“I’m not here to argue,” he continued, causing your eyebrow to hitch and Draco quickly added, “anymore,” as to not contradict himself. “I think it’s for the best. End this before something worse happens.”

You looked up at him, and though neither of you had moved he seemed impossibly far away. “Like what?” you asked, the question necessary, the answer terrifying to your rulebreaking, broken heart.

His breath hitched, the Adam’s Apple you admired earlier bobbing. “I think you know.” Full of cocky mystery, holding the power to be ambiguous, Draco turned on his heels slowly, the grace of it easily destroyer, however, as he began walking but tripped at your words.

“I’ll have my stuff out of here by the time you get back,” you promised, hating the streak of pride that ran through you at Draco’s reaction. 

It was premature, though: Draco turned his head slowly over his shoulder, looking at you with a genre of darkness in his eyes that made it seem like their color had dropped two shades and your heart then dropped two levels, from chest to rib cage to stomach. His face was hollowed out and hanging down in something that looked like defeat—surprisingly, your heart didn’t spin at the effect your leaving had, too busy breaking—and he spoke, with overtaking carefulness and intention, “I’ll expect that whole drawer to be empty,” before walking through the door and closing it with eerie softness.

The gentle click was contradicted by the raging scream you let out just afterward, almost identical in delivery as Draco’s and you hoped he could hear it, too, feel your frustration down to the marrow of his bones. You stomped loudly to his bedroom, throwing open doors and filled drawers, dumping piles of clothes in stray bags of his you had no intention of returning, loathing the patches of skin—one on forehead and one on thigh—-that begged that Draco’s touch be returned, just for a little longer, as if your need for him was satiable. It was confusing to be so angry at him but want him, heartbreaking that the thing he broke it over, the “worst thing,” would be him returning those feelings. So when you left, the only trace remaining salted teardrops across hardwood floors, you slammed the front door with all of your might before getting in your car and speeding home.


	2. Chapter 2

In accidental reminders and uncontrollable daydreams Draco still slipped into your mind, his presence a beautiful but quickly covered-up coincidence after four months of forgetting how to love him. If love is a process of falling, oddly enough, getting over Draco never seemed like standing up, regaining control and independence over a body that once beat for someone else. No, it was a process of unlearning, taking your fingertips to those parts of your mind filled with unnecessary information about him—how he liked his tea, how his voice got tender while crying, how he always made his bed in the morning and always in the exact same way—and gently coaxing them apart from the shell of your brain. It was a process of fighting instinct, the one to apparate to his bedroom after you had woken in yours, shaking from a nightmare that forced you to recall the Battle of Hogwarts (these seemed so much more frequent now that Draco was gone), the one to send him an owl begging for mercy, the one to not moan his name while fucking some one-night stand. 

But Autumn rang in, colder and fiercer than Draco ever could be, violent rainstorms not only washing fallen leaves from the street but his name from your mind. It was a thoughtless force of habit that made you no longer open the bottom drawer—Draco’s drawer—of your dresser, the same kind that made you forget to consider making meals for one, tea for one, hot chocolate for one. While falling asleep during storming nights, you rolled over in your now-spacious bed without thinking about why there was so much extra room on the other side. 

It was in one of these repetitive nights of storms that a sound other than rainfall hit the walls of your flat. Just as persistently, the sound was heartier and came from one specific location: your door. If it wasn’t for your bedroom being right by the door, making the knocking resonate against your walls and shake you awake, you might have slept right through it, thinking it was rain.

Your eyes were still thick with sleep, heavy with lips dragging, as you pulled yourself from the warmth of your bed and into your unlit hallway to answer the door. What you found on the other side, however, made your eyes suddenly snap awake, wider than they’ve ever been. 

It was Draco. Draco, fully breathless and soaking wet. 

In question, introduction, amazement, validation that this wasn’t something you were dreaming, your mouth opened to say his name. But before you could his mouth was on it—hot breath, plump lips and all—kissing you as if he was trying to split you apart with just his tongue, win some kind of argument you hadn’t even gotten into. With drenched fingertips scrunching the front of your hoodie, clutching tightly in possessiveness, he walked you both backwards slightly so you were both fully inside the hallway. But the door was still open, brining in frigid gusts of winds. The chill of them only intensified as you struggled away from Draco’s mouth and fingertips, as no longer did you have his body to block it. But the anger that consumed you, rang deep red through your veins like the flames of a forest fire, were more than enough to suffice for the lost heat. 

“Draco, what the Hell?” you panted, out of breath from the kiss, the unexpected visit, the surprise of it all. “It’s the middle of the night. Why are you here?”

He kept coming towards you, smiling softly, as if he was about to break out into laughter, but never doing so. “It’s actually not nighttime. It’s three in the morning. And I’m here because I miss you.”

The storm raged outside, rain practically dumping out into roads and rooftops, but it was nothing compared to the loud thumping of your heartbeat at Draco’s confession, the mess of it all. Because he was still here, ungraciously unannounced, drenched clothes dripping, forming a puddle of rainwater on your hardwood floor. Because he had broken your heart and you had just began to forget how it felt to look at Draco and have him look back at you as if you were artwork on display, a masterpiece he stole and had no intention of returning. 

But he had broken your heart. So the anger reformed: “You really think this is the most productive way to have a conversation about our relationship? After not talking to me after five months, just showing up on my doorstep and kissing me? You could have allowed me, you know, like a normal person.”

“And say what, exactly?” Draco challenged.

“I don’t know. Whatever it is you want to say to me. Whatever it was that brought you here.”

Draco’s eyes flickered to your lips momentarily, before returning to look into yours. “You brought me here,” he said while his gaze continued to be indecisive. 

You scoffed. “Seriously?”

He made a grunt of approval before leaning in, initiating a kiss once more, but before you had time to retract he was already doing that for you, leaving before anything began. “You know what,” he grumbled, lifting his face away, followed by an unexpected turn around himself that made him look like he was departing, that made you want to beg for him to stay.

But he didn’t leave. Instead, he turned back to close the door with excruciating gentleness and then faced you once more, fingers still coiled around the handle as if it was keeping him upright. “Let’s do this. I’ll tell you why I’m here.” Draco breathed deeply, but was still breathless while saying, hushed but still harsh, “Fuck, I started falling for you. And I’m here because I thought pushing you away would work but it didn’t. I still want… shit, Y/N, I don’t even know…. I just… I just…”

“Draco.” You said his name in whisper-like tenderness, causing his eyes to lift off from the ground, stormier than the sky outside could ever be. With carefulness you began to him, your hand out, but he protested before you could even take a step.

“No,” he barked, chest heaving, your feet replanting. Then, in regular pattern, the softness ensued: “I’m sorry. But, I need space or you’ll distract me and I want to have this conversation with you. I just don’t know how.” His head dropped down to the ground, lowering his tone even more, to a place that almost weakend your knees all of the way to the wet hardwood floor. “I’ve just never been in love with someone before.”

Your heart was racing so fast you were surprised it didn’t just burst out of your chest entirely and into Draco’s hands, where it had always been, always belonged. And then you were crying, tears hitting your cheeks before you knew you were even producing them, crying from relief and grief and happiness and anger and frustration and feeling so much at once it felt impossible, having your heart twisted in so many directions all at once.

Behind tears and with the rough corrugation they bring to tones of voice, you asked, not because you thought you misheard but because you couldn’t believe what you knew you heard, “You’re in love with me?” 

“I mean, I think so,” Draco said, gulping down the guilt that rose from seeing you cry. “Am I in love with you if I literally could not think about anything or anyone other than you these past months? If I kept hooking up with people to try and forget you? But I can’t do it anymore, Y/N. I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending they’re you.” He looked up at you, eyes full of hope and confusion, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him before. “Does that mean I’m in love with you?”

A shiver ran down your spine. “Y-yeah, I think it does.”

“Are you certain?” Draco asked, forehead carved with deep set frown lines.

You nodded your head before saying, with an honesty inspired by Draco’s own, “Yes, because that’s exactly how I felt, and I know I’m in love with you.”

From too far away—or maybe it was the perfect distance, as it allowed you to see the scene in full before you—Draco’s face lifted, mouth grinning, eyes so bright they didn’t need anything other than the pale moonlight to positively glimmer. He chucked a bit, in obvious disbelief, before asking, “Really? You love me?” 

In a terrible habit you found yourself biting your bottom lip while nodding your head, smiling profusely. You watched as Draco let his head fall slightly and streams of chuckles leave his mouth while trying to process the truths you had just told, outwardly struggling with it, as if he couldn’t believe it was true and your heart swelled at the thought. 

Then, out of nowhere, you asked Draco, “Do you want to stay over?” It was followed by the sudden flushing of your cheeks, as if Draco hadn’t just admitted to being in love with you.

“Yes,” he responded without a beat to pause. Then, his nervousness struck, as well, as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and said softly, “Only if you want me to.”

“Draco, I literally just asked,” you laughed, successfully approaching him for the first time that night. “Come on.” In a grandiose manner you outstretched your arm to Draco and he took your hand in his, allowing you to pull him forwards until he was right behind you, so close you could feel his breath hot against the skin on the back of your neck, right above where your hoodie’s hood rested, and then he pressed a gentle kiss against that same spot as if it wasn’t already on fire enough, sensitive enough, blazing hot enough. It made you almost fall over into your dresser. “Here, I have something for you, Draco,” you said breathlessly while opening your bottom drawer and pulling out a dry shirt and pair of track pants.

“Why?” he asked, causing you to scoff. “Aren’t we just gonna…” Draco’s voice trailed off as he looked at you, expectant smirk turned into guilt. A long pause followed, during which he swallowed visibly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. But I want to if you do.”

Though you were blushing adamantly with a heartbeat resembling the patter of raindrops on your roof, you found it within you to smirk and say, “What happened to the Draco that would just ask to fuck?” 

Instead of showing embarrassment—which disappointed you slightly—Draco laughed before saying, “That Draco was trying to hide the fact he was madly in love with you, so don’t be surprised if there are some changes.” 

Your smile was still coy as you asked, “Like what?”

“Like this.”

And all coquetry was sucked from your mouth as Draco’s placed his against it, hesitating as if overwhelmed, but for only a moment before spreading your lips open slowly, coaxing them, asking them but not demanding anything more than what you gave but you gave everything so it didn’t matter what was requested. And how could you not when he had both hands on your face, cupping cheeks, wiping thumbs against the leftover salt stains of the tears you cried in the hallway? When he moaned into your mouth so softly, it was barely more than a breath? When he pressed his chest into yours so you were existing almost in one entity? 

You dropped the clothing on the floor unceremoniously, freeing your hands so they could rest on Draco’s back, fingers spread against his slightly-damp coat. In slow motion you moved your mouth against his, savoring the taste of it, the shape of it, constantly yet methodically shifting as Draco slid his palms around to the back of your neck and intertwined his fingers in your hair, allowing him to tilt his face ever so slightly. But you followed Draco’s movements without a thought, as if his body was the center of gravity your entire world revolved around. Because when kissed you like that, so thoroughly, so unhurriedly, as if trying to use just his lips and tongue and edges of his teeth to show you how much he loved you, it was hard to do anything but fall into him completely. 

So it was no surprise that Draco was the one who pulled back first, his lips purple and breath unsteady. A sharp exhale left your lungs at the loss, something Draco would have typically teased you for, but he looked just as shaken with wide, dark eyes and a slightly parted mouth. 

Even though it was uncharacteristically innocent of Draco, your skin shivered at the feeling of his hands at the hem of your hoodie. “May I?” he asked simply, breathlessly, and you nodded before his fingertips dove under the fabric, lifting it over your head and shoulders. Before you could react his breath was on your now-exposed neck, then his lips, and your skin sang at the feeling of it, spine sparking up with dim electricity. To distract yourself from becoming too overwhelmed in the sensation, you began unbuttoning his coat, sliding it off his strong frame into a very un-Draco-like heap of fabric on the floor. 

But he didn’t notice, too busy letting his mouth climb up your neck, reaching the shell of your ear and causing your breath to hitch. “Come on,” he whispered, sliding his palm from wherever it was—this new Draco liked to explore with the tactile senses, but you weren’t complaining—into your hand and leading you towards your bed.

You didn’t move. 

Draco was too busy being caught up to realize this, walking towards the bed in obvious excitement, only noticing your reluctance when his arm was fully outstretched behind him and met with a firm reluctance. His head snapped back to look at your face while let worry grow atop its sharpening features. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Slowly, you turned your head away to notice his fingers in yours, how they took to the shape of the gaps between knuckles so naturally it was breathtaking, truly, to watch them in a position you’ve longed to be in for so long. So much longer than Draco had known.

Your gaze fell from fingers to floor as you admitted quietly, but with firmness, “I know you said you’re this new version of Draco and everything, but… I love old Draco. I fell in love with you far too early in our agreement, and just because you know now doesn’t mean you need to change or that I want you to.”

“Hey, look at me,” Draco whispered and you obliged because how could you not when his voice was so sweet the aftertaste of sugar was left on your now-chapped lips? “I’m still an arsehole, alright? A complete and utter git. I promise.” The playful smile on his lips allowed you the warmth to laugh smally, a sound just slightly smoother than a scoff, and he took a step towards you. “This is about what you said earlier, about how I used to just fuck you. But there aren’t rules anymore, and I intend to take full advantage of that and kiss down your back again. Actually indulge in some of the things those goddamn restrictions kept me from doing, like looking you in the eyes and calling you by your name. This is about us having sex that’s about us and not some stupid rulebook, not me changing into an entirely new human. Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, reaffirmed, watching Draco’s smile match your own in the faded moonlight that cascaded in from your uncurtained window. Watching him, just for a moment, because though you had outwardly agreed with his words, inwardly, he was wrong: Draco had changed, become someone braver and more honest, from someone who said he couldn’t have a conversation about love to, thirty minutes later, conducting one so beautiful it made your heart stop. 

So when he began leading you to the bed once more, you didn’t fight back. You followed. 

Because following him, falling into him, it was so easy you dubbed it an instinct. It was so gloriously natural to let him spin you around slightly once he reached the edge of the bed, making you the one closer to the mattress as he laid you down into it carefully. No shoves of heat or rushing; suddenly, Draco acted as if he had infinite time under his fingertips as he crawled on top of you and began kissing you, kissing you not as if the world was ending, but like you were his. 

Because you were his, and he yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of the plot of the story. If you keep reading, it will be smut from here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all smut! Read only if you are comfortable with it (but its pretty soft, FYI).

The only way you knew “slow” to be used in describing Draco Malfoy’s style of sex was teasingly. The kind that made curled knuckles turn white and darkened his eyes from grey to black and made you beg, with shameless moans, for something, anything, everything. The kind that made him chuckle after, with a tone of voice so low it sounded like gravel because you both knew too well he would ignore whatever you asked for, turning you absolutely desperate in the most exhilarating form of the phrase. It was so excruciating that it was pleasurable and there was nothing more you loved in the world than Draco making you wait.

That is, until you found this, the bliss that was Draco being slow not to tease, but to savor the taste, the sounds, the sights of your body beneath him. Once on the bed, he was still kissing you like he wanted to memorize the inside of your mouth millimeter by millimeter, but his hands were suddenly everywhere: sliding up your neck, fingers intertwined in your hair, palms on the small of your back as it arched up into him. It was like he couldn’t get enough; maybe he couldn’t. If the sounds he was making—deep, breathy moans split up by gravelly grumbles—were any indication, than maybe Draco felt equally as on fire as you did. 

Your skin sang as the heels of his hands kept lifting up your back, taking your shirt with them, skimming across your spine as if feeling along the texture of a grassy meadow. The pang of cold air that hit your now-exposed chest and stomach didn’t last long, however; after Draco had slipped your shirt off of you, his eyes bore into every uncovered inch of skin, causing a hot blush to spread across your cheeks.

“You’re so… God,” Draco swore, taking in the sight of you as he held himself on his hands from above. “So gorgeous. Every single inch of you.” Chills spread across your body at the compliment, but for as much as you now didn’t understand how you survived thus far with the agreement terms restricting him from treating you so tenderly, you didn’t know how you’d survive with it introduced. How were you supposed to keep breathing when air seemed so far away? 

Then Draco leaned in, placing his lips against your neck, and began mouthing at your skin as if trying to reiterate what he had just said with lips and teeth and tongue only, no voice. But you still had yours, so when Draco scraped his teeth down your neck, followed by a firm swipe of his tongue back up that same patch of skin, you moaned loudly. Then, he pressed his lips against the spot where your neck met your shoulder and you could feel the shape of his smile indented into your body before brushing his mouth down and drawing air up your throat.

He kept lowering down your body like that, eliciting whimpers and faltered breath from your mouth as he had his everywhere. After your neck he went for your collarbone, nipping at the skin there, not like he wanted to leave spots of ownership: it was far too light of a tug for that. So the only other option was that he revelled in the way your body melted under the scrape of his teeth, softening from rigidity, and it must have been so, because he was humming stop your skin as you arched into his.

Then his mouth came to your chest, the swirling of tongue around nipples causing you to shoot your hands into your hair and groan out his name. “Draco.” Two syllables, drawn out completely, full of breath but lacking it at the same time.

He lifted his chin up slightly, looking at your eyes, whose lids were dropped in pleasure but still didn’t miss how dark his were. “Say that again,” he requested; it wasn’t a demand, couldn’t be one, when it was said so shakily and almost on the verge of prayer.

“Your name?” you asked, trying to speak evenly even though Draco’s hand was flush against your exposed chest.

“Yeah,” he breathed, still looking deep into your eyes as if they were endless while leaning forwards and taking your nipple between his teeth.

You screamed it. It was still echoing against the walls as you felt Draco’s hand shudder against you in the aftermath. “Damn rules,” he grumbled, picking himself up just to lower his face down your body even further. “Can’t believe I’ve never heard you say my name like that. It’s sinful.”

But what Draco did next seemed far more sinful to you, dragging his tongue from the center of your chest all the way down your stomach, over belly button and all. You wanted to use the action to fight back, say how he was contradicting himself, but were too busy moaning out his name, body heating up at how it made Draco’s shudder each time, to form words.

Just like your hoodie, Draco paused once his mouth reached the hemline of your pajama bottoms, breathing heavily. He looked up at you and asked, “Can I—”

“Yes,” you panted. “Please.”

Usually, desperation like that would elicit some sort of pride from Draco—smirk, crude comment, chuckle—but he whimpered a breathy, “shit,” before tugging your pants off. His fingers were shaking, you could feel the movement of them against your thighs, as he asked, “And panties?”

You gulped. “Everything.”

Draco exhaled loudly before hooking his fingers between the thin cotton and your hip bones, sliding them down your legs to meet where your pants laid bundled by your fuzzy sock clad ankles.

He smiled so softly it made your heart stop. “I like your socks.”

“Thanks,” you blushed, glad he wasn’t watching as the redness spread up your face, as if he hadn’t just seen your entire body naked. 

The warmth didn’t fade from his face until your pants, socks, and underwear were off of your body, balled up near the base of your blankets, and he looked from their crumpled state to your exposed flesh and nearly choked from the sight of it. You swore you could hear Draco’s heart beating before the sound was covered with his voice. “Stunning,” he said simply, before leaning over your frame and placing a gentle kiss to your lips. Draco pulled away before adding tongue or teeth and even though it was nothing more than a press of lips against lips, it was somehow the most intimate action of the evening.

Until he crawled back down to where he kneeled preciously, palms now against your thighs, requesting, “Spread your legs, love,” so gently you couldn’t do anything other than oblige. “Shit,” Draco gasped, leaning down as it exited his mouth so you could feel the remnants of the word hot on his breath as he neared your aching clit. Without further notice Draco pressed his tongue on it and you were gone, completely, carelessly, shamelessly, under the movements of his mouth, the twirls of his tongue around that bundle of nerves that would scream if they could but couldn’t so you did, instead. It was a breathless, “Draco,” every time, on endless repeat. A chant, a plead, a prayer. 

Though his fingers grappled a bit—reminding you how much pleasure he got from praise, building up your own to an unimaginable extent—Draco’s tongue remained steady as it lowered down, beginning to streak down the lips of your pussy before landing on the opening of it, hot breath against clenching flesh making shivers run up every inch of your body and you thought it couldn’t get better but it kept improving every second as Draco dipped his tongue inside.

Your breath hitched, toes curling atop your bedsheets at the sight of it, the candidness of your viewing—or, truly, studying—of Draco’s features as his tongue worked you open. In a force of habit, your hands fled towards Draco’s lowered head, ready to clutch strands of hair as you lifted your hips just slightly into his mouth, but they were left without a place to go once Draco lifted his forehead just slightly, finding your eyes and locking his on them.

So you could have cared less that your knuckles pressed against bed sheets that were just as white because, Merlin, Draco was looking at you as if he’d follow you to the gates of Hell whilst opening you up so earnestly he might get sent there first. Every press, prod, circle was enough to make you feel like your veins were gasoline and Draco’s tongue was the match; it wasn’t explosive as much as it was a perpetual stream of pleasure running from surface of skin to marrow of bone that made your back arch and your fingers clench and your mouth fall open in moans. You constantly found yourself with a tilted head, one cheek on a pillow, face scrunched and body writhing underneath Draco’s touch. But every time you realized you weren’t looking at him and should have been, you turned back to see his eyes still waiting to regain contact with yours, filled with hungry desire and tenderness all at once.

In a slow, languid rhythm, your hips began lifting into Draco’s tongue, meeting halfway in an accidentally overt reaction to the rhapsody which coursed through you. It felt like an over exaggeration and you were just about to be embarrassed before Draco moaned into you, sliding his palms to the back of your thighs to assist the movement. “Fuck,” you breathed, throwing your head back, feeling his moan echo through you as if your body was a hollowed room. But it wasn’t hollow: it was bursting, full of Draco’s tongue and the unforeseen surprises that came with such a coaxer of pleasure, like how it licked back up and pressed against your almost-forgotten clit so unexpectedly you whined.

You felt Draco’s sharp intake of breath before you heard it. He kept reacting so explicitly to your body’s responses, fueling your desire even further and it was a glorious cycle, heavenly in its relentlessness. And Draco kept toying with your clit with the flat of his tongue, making you whimper, making him moan into you hotly, the combination of his eyes still on you and the combination of vibrations and pressure turing your body into a quivering mess beneath him.

“Draco…. I, I…” you breathed, trying to communicate how close you were to slipping over the edge, holding onto sanity by the tips of your fingertips which clenched tightly against your bedsheets. But all you could muster was his name, repeating it as you saw his eyes brighten at the chant, giving away the smile that was hidden by being pressed up against you. It was as if the getting you to come was the most enjoyable thing to Draco, and it was the thought of that which made your body begin in its descent—or ascent, perhaps—to do so.

It was like you were floating but in a world turned sideways. Your head was thrown back completely, mouth shouting Draco’s name to the ceiling which still pounded with rain but you couldn’t hear it, too consumed in euphoria to notice anything other than the way it felt to be submerged in pleasure, toes curling, back arching, skin burning as if the only thing your body knew was heat but somehow shivering, too, from the sheer force of ecstasy. 

Too busy to even notice that Draco had seen the entire display of it for the first time and was now panting, looking up at you with a lifted chin and lust-filled eyes. 

It took you a minute, or maybe two or three or four—time was irrelevant when it came to Draco because he controlled it in the bedroom, contorting it as much as your body—to settle down, but once you could think once more, the concept of Draco watching you come for the for the first time was all you were able to ponder. Your face flushed pink yet again; “new” Draco seemed to know how you make you an entirely new kind of flustered.

You glanced down at him, watching him watch you, he doing the same, smiling at one another, acknowledging each other wordlessly as both of your chests began dying down, the pants that filled the room replaced by Draco’s voice, impossibly deep. “That was quite possibly the most captivating thing I’ve ever seen,” he admitted wholeheartedly. “I want to see that again.” While your body shivered at the compliment Draco’s rose up and you watched as he began reaching for his belt buckle before copying his previous movement and sitting up, surprising yourself at your ability to even move after such an intense orgasm. 

It was sort of an odd position—Draco kneeling between your open legs—but it allowed you to grab his hand atop the leather belt. “Wait, shouldn’t it be your turn?” you asked, feeling the tightness between your eyebrows.

“Now it gets to be both of our turns,” he responded, smirk on his face, before beginning to pull your hand away with his free one. 

“Wait.” Draco’s hand automatically froze in midair, eyes full of curiosity and confusion. “What if I, uh…. want it to be your turn?” 

Draco laughed. “What happened to the girl who’d just ask to suck me off?”

“She’s hanging out with the Draco who used to just ask me to fuck,” you retorted with a grin that challenged Draco’s in smugness, making him laugh even harder. You took advantage of his carefree outburst and pushed him down into the mattress, making his laughter die, shock overtaking his face. 

For there were times—plenty of them, too—during which you were on top of him. But you could feel the difference of this one in exactly the same way your climax felt like a more vulnerable version of its old manifestation. You weren’t as much on top of Draco as he was beneath you, so, in an act of reassurance, you leaned down and placed your lips against his, with feather-like lightness that made Draco exhale deeply, settling into his skeleton. 

After allowing him to adjust, you leaned in once again, but this time differently. This time with tongue, which slid past his already swollen lips and between his teeth in an easy and memorized motion. This time with tender touches, the sprawling of your fingertips against Draco’s firm chest and up his neck, making him breathe into your mouth shakily. This time with intention, one to kiss him into oblivion, openness, say how much you loved him without a single word exiting your throat but your tongue deep down his.

With much reluctance you pulled back, body flaming up at the quickly-realized awareness that Draco felt equally as unhappy with your decision as whine left his mouth. One that faded into a moan swiftly as you reattach your lips on him, but this time on the sharp edge of his jawline, watching the veins in his neck flare in response. So you proceeded to kiss down those rigid lines, opposing brushes of lips with swipes of tongue, and before you even realized it you had reached his collar bone, then his chest. Your hands circled around Draco’s muscled arms as your mouth lowered down his stomach, allowing you to notice how his hair stood up in response. Feeling the goosebumps as they formed on his skin and hearing his breathy moans from kissing him, you realized, was just as invigorating as belonging to the body that was traversed across. 

So you could feel intoxicating sparks light between your thighs even though your hands were on his, because Draco was moaning loudly as your tongue licked down that stripe of hair, leading your hot mouth right over the strained fabric of his jeans. 

Draco’s heartbeat reverberated all the way down to his stomach, so you could feel it while unbuckling his belt. The scrape of metal against leather was followed by the graze of jeans and cotton against skin was followed by suction of lips around cock.

“Shit,” Draco rasped. And it was almost identical, the way he went for your hair—you felt his knuckles brush against it—just how you had reached out for his, barely a touch before retracting, as if he wanted to give you the option to look as he had. So you flashed your eyes at him, expecting this to be a momentary wonder but finding yourself utterly transfixed, suddenly understood why no eye contact during sex used to be a rule. 

Because Draco was so dangerously gorgeous in the throes of it. He had propped himself up on his elbows, most likely to observe your actions, but it had an unforeseen side effect: giving you better vantage point to admire his puffy lips being bitten down on by his teeth and the length of his neck being exposed while throwing his head back in bliss. Somehow, though, little gasps were still escaped from his lips, and everytime Draco’s head fell back, it got back up again, as intent on watching you as you were with watching him. Thus, the eye contact created was simply electric, stunningly so. It radiated desire, so strong between the two of you it was almost tangible, laying over your body, making you take more of Draco down your throat, body shuddering at the moan it elicited. 

So you moaned back, letting the sound vibrate around Draco’s cock, and it must have been too much, because he suddenly was calling your name in warning. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned. “You gotta… I’m close. Y/N.” He drew it out, the way sometimes songs don’t end starkly but fade, and the way Draco moaned your name should have been classified as music because of such. So you took him in deeper, your eyes locked on his lidded ones, squeezed shut in pleasure. His entire body shook and transferred a jolt of electricity into yours, followed by a stream of come that ran down your throat. 

“Shit. Shit,” Draco panted from above you. He was flat on his back, finished entirely yet still quivering as if he had spent the last Merlin knows how long standing in the raging storm outside as opposed to having sex with you. 

You looked at him with concerned curiosity before announcing, “Draco, you’re trembling,” as if he couldn’t feel it himself, wasn’t living through the shudders and shortness of breath. 

So it wasn’t a surprise when he responded with a stern, “I know,” but the harshness of it made you stray from speaking again until Draco prompted conversation, allowing him time to settle. It’s not like you necessarily minded watching his body shudder and his mouth form breathy words that sounded like your name. So you just watched and watched and watched his lips finally part. “Well, that’s new,” he said rather casually, breath steadier but still lacking rhythm. 

Your heart raced and your fingers twiddled. “Good new?”

“Bloody amazing new.” In a flash he sat up, but instead of pushing you down to lay against the crumpled bedspread, he stayed on his knees, considering you with almost the same kind of wonderment you had possessed while watching him writhe. His face was aglow with the sheen of sex, eyes dusky, lips complelty distended, hair in an untypical mess with strands going every which direction. And Draco had never looked so gorgeous.

With soul-aching tenderness, Draco reached his fingers out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I like looking at you,” he stated. “Well, I’ve always liked looking at you. But here, during this, It feels like we’re… together, you know? Not just two separate people trying to get themselves off. It’s us. Not you and me.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, stupidly hoping the darkness that surrounded the two of you was hiding your blush, even though you could see Draco’s in its full throttle. “Intimate,” you added, breathlessly, heart too busy pounding at Draco’s words to allow you to breathe. “It’s more intimate.”

“Exactly,” he smiled, leaning in then and you could feel the shape of his grin against your mouth as he pressed them together. As his tongue wove between your lips, a gasp escaping your throat, you realized you wouldn’t ever get used to Draco kissing you in this way, with so much consideration and love it basically hummed out of his skin as he hummed into your mouth. “I love kissing you,” he whispered while pulling back for breath, diving back in before you had a chance to catch yours. 

Within a few minutes you had found a position—Draco sitting up with you in his lap—and a tempo, both in how you kissed and rocked your bodies against one another’s. Draco’s hands were wound deeply in your hair while yours rubbed up and down his back, sometimes with intermixing I’d fingernails when a particular roll of Draco’s hardening cock hit you too perfectly for you to restrain yourself. And Draco, intimacy and kissing-obsessed Draco, kept humming into your throat, the sweetness of it overwhelming both your heart and your whitening knuckles.

You pulled away first for the first time, detaching lips, but still staying connected through Draco’s forehead resting against yours. “Draco, I need you,” you panted. “Are you—”

“Merlin, yeah, I’m ready,” he interrupted. “I’ve been ready for weeks. Just…” before he could finish his own thought, Draco cast a few spells endlessly, which you knew the results from through experience, but no amount of it could make you stop finding it oddly arousing.

In some stroke of spontaneity, you admitted, moan heavy in the delivery, “God that’s hot.”

Draco smirked, but it wasn’t teasing as much as it seemed prideful. “I know you get turned on by wandless magic,” he confessed. A hot flush of embarrassment was preparing to unfurl on your neck, but before it could Draco stopped it through a simple question: “Why else would I have learned so many wandless spells?”

“Really?” Your mouth was agape, so after Draco laughed, he placed a gentle kiss on your cheek instead. You heard him mumble affirmatively against your skin, causing you to laugh before it was drawn out into a sharp, stolen breath, as Draco moved his mouth down to your jawline. The pressing of his lips against your skin barely constituted as touches, they were so airy, but they left you gasping by the time his hot breath reached the shell of your ear.

“Ready?” he asked. All you could handle was an over-enthusiastic nod, but Draco was equally as quiet while holding his cock in one hand and cupping your thigh with his other, guiding your body onto his.

And all silence was lost in that moment of stretching: Draco hissed and you gasped, lost in the feeling of Draco inside you once again, wondering how you had survived five long months without it. Once he was fully inside you dropped your forehead atop his shoulder and let out a cry of pleasure. You thought you heard him whisper something like, “I know. Fuck, I know,” before it got lost in a loud groan from the first rise and fall of your thighs around his cock.

With your arms tangled around Draco’s back with suck lack of grace it was as romantic as it was unceremonious, you began riding him slowly, not pushing down but rolling your hips, feeling your entire body overcome with rapture. It didn’t take long for it to multiply, didn’t take long for Draco to begin meeting in the middle of your movements with his own, just as deliberate and thorough in their execution. You whimpered into his shoulder while he panted out against the crook of your neck, sharply but softly and in the pacing of his thrusts. 

Suddenly, Draco’s exhale was replaced with something else: his lips, pressed just faintly against the top of your back that was exposed to him. The top of your back, your back, just like that time before and you moaned his name softly, thanking him for keeping the promise. 

For a while you two just existed like that, melted into one another’s touch, but suddenly something shifted when Draco hit deep inside of you, causing you to break apart the gentle sounds of breaths with a shout of his name. “Again,” you pleaded, scraping up his tensing spine.

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Lie back. I wanna…” he forgot about his sentence while helping you descend onto your back, Draco remaining inside you the entire time, causing you to wonder how he might end the sentence, if it would be a variation of pillow talk you had heard time and time again. It wasn’t; yet, the unexpectedness didn’t phase you nearly as much as the words themselves. “Wanna see you when I make love to you.”

Your entire body reacted to the admission: knees buckling, toes curling, fingers clenching, back lifting so high up only your shoulder blades remained pressed against the mattress. But you let yourself be completely taken by the pleasure, just like how you allowed Draco to take you in a slow and even pace, hitting your spot every damned time.

You struggled against only one instinct: shutting your eyes. You wanted to see Draco just as fervently, watch his body tense and jaw clench, not only because it scorched your skin like nothing else could, but because it was so beautiful, knowing you both trusted one another enough to look in such a time of vulnerability. Of giving up and giving in.

At the locking of your eyes with Draco it was over. To watch him watch you like that, as if you were the only thing that existed but also the best out of everything else, so there had to be an everything else, it was a kind of magic Hogwarts couldn’t teach. Draco’s blackened eyes were staring right into your quaking soul and vibrations scattered through your body like a thousand minuscule exploding stars.

And you were starting to see them behind the scrunched lids of your eyes, like how a few appeared in the sky as dusk was ending and night began. “Draco,” you moaned, sucking every syllable out of his name, elongating it. “Draco. Draco, I’m… I’m…”

“Me too,” he said before leaning down, pressing torso against torso and lips against lips. And you were kissing Draco—or maybe, truly, Draco was kissing you—while having sex, and perhaps it was that, or the fact that Draco hit so deep so well at the perfect angle, or a combination of the two, but you were coming. Shaking in his arms, trembling and moaning out his name and his name alone.

Too deep in the throes of it, you hadn’t even realized Draco’s cock had been pulled until you felt a pool of heat stop your stomach, heard him growl lowly at the sensation. It hit you only after, breathing heavily with Draco by your side—somehow he was always moving yet always exactly where he needed to be—that you had come together for the first time. While kissing.

“Draco?” you questioned, not knowing exactly what you had to say but knowing you adored the lazy grin that Draco wore, which you saw after he turned his head towards you. So you just returned the smile and looked at him and his eyes, the warmest grey the world had to offer.

“Yes?” he answered, brow cocked in question and teasing. But your mouth remained reluctant to speak, just smiling as if nothing happened, causing Draco to chuckle. “What? What is it?”

You shrugged, letting your hand stroke against his left arm in casual complacency. “Just looking,” you replied, taking in the sight of his long body as it shone in the rain-streaked moonlight. “I like to look at you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by @niffleurs on Tumblr. Find me there under the same name @madforscamander


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